A Missing Dragonborn
by dissatisfieduser
Summary: A mysterious prisoner vanishes in the aftermath of the dragon attack on Helgen. Now the fate of Skyrim and Tamriel as a whole rests not on one man's shoulders but upon all of its inhabitants. Follow their epic struggle for survival as we cross over into fates unknown. Slight AU. No romance planned.
**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **Author's Note:**

This is probably going to be my first time trying to post on a regular basis. The plan is a post every week on Wednesday. On the topic of the story itself, the basic premise, as you may see on the description is essentially an alternate universe where the Dragonborn's state of life is in question and the people of Skyrim are forced to deal with the End of the World without their prophecised saviour. The secondary premise stems from the problem I have come across in some fan fictions and reflections on the nature of the game's story: the Dragonborn manages to become Archmage, Harbinger, Listener, Guild-Master of the Thieves Guild, decider of the course of the Skyrim Civil War, and the vanquisher of Alduin all at the same time. I truly believe that Skyrim is full of ambitious and capable people who can also rise to these challenges if Tamriel were ever real. Furthermore, it appears that the Dragonborn is the only person in Skyrim, aside from Delphine, capable of exploring a cave or dungeon in its entirety without dying. This story attempts to address some of the problems regarding believability. But I must warn you! As I do not live in a world where racism is completely justified by different sentient races or where magic exists, expect some very unbelievable things to happen in the name of awesome.

A note on my style of writing dialogue: in person, I'm actually quite terse and this reflects in the way my characters speak. Of course, this is also indicative of the level of my writing ability (or lack thereof). I am not submitting my writer through any beta or editor, but if you find yourself so interested in this story that you would like to help out in its creation, send me a note.

With all that said and done, let's go.

* * *

 **Helgen**

"Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

The Stormcloak stared at his former friend for a passing moment, shock quickly turning to resolve.

"We're escaping Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time."

Helgen blazed around them, consumed by Dragonfire. The divine destruction casting long and distorted shadows in a standoff between mortal factions.

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you—"

With a resounding crash, a chunk of masonry smashed into the keep door, eliminating the most obvious route to safety. With no other options left, the Legionnaire beckoned for the Stormcloak to follow.

"Come with me if you want to live, prisoner"

The Legionnaire charged off in the direction of the Northern gate, the Stormcloack storming through the fire after him. The unlikely companions miraculously making it to safety despite the ever-present threat of dragon behind them. The two didn't stop running until they reached the river. Hearing a distant roar, the Legionnaire motioned for silence and crouched behind a rock with the Stormcloack taking position behind a tree. A moment later, a vast winged shadow was cast over their position. The Legionnaire took a moment to study the winged terror that had descended upon Helgen.

It was quite large, almost as large as Helgen Keep, with bony spikes covering most of its body. It was a strange thing, a dragon destroying an Imperial stronghold where the symbol of the Dragonborn emperors flew proudly on Imperial standards. When the dragon crossed over the mountains beyond the river, the Legionnaire let out the breath he had been holding then turned to the Stormcloak.

"I know that we are on opposite sides, but we need to go to Riverwood; check if the dragon had been there before."

The Stormcloak thought about his relatives, then nodded. "Perhaps we should go to Whiterun after that, inform the Jarl."

* * *

 **On the road to Riverwood**

On the road to Riverwood, whistling a jaunty tune, was a Nord with three swords on his back. All were slick with the blood of bandits. He was almost at Riverwood when he saw the most curious of sights: an Imperial legionnaire walking alongside a Stormclock soldier whilst engaged in what appeared to be a friendly discussion. Quickening his pace, the Nord drew close enough to hear their conversation.

"So, Ralof, whatever happened to that refugee from Cyrodil?"

"He came with us into the tower. But when he caught sight of Ulfric, he just ran up the stairs. Last I saw was him jumping out the tower. Don't know if he even survived the fall."

"Damn shame that. He had a way about him. Only thing I ever heard him say was his name and it was like the air shook."

Prisoner from Cyrodil? Ulfric Stormcloack? Jumping off towers? Curiosity demanded answers and the Nord was happy to oblige.

"Excuse me sirs, may I ask what you two are talking about?"

The Legionnaire's hand instantly went to the sword at his side but the Stormcloak waved at him dismissively. "Oh, come off it Hadvar. Even if it came to combat, it's one against two." He crossed his fist over his chest and bowed lightly, "Hail and well-met traveller, I am Ralof of Riverwood and the Imperial on my left is Hadvar of Riverwood. We are on our way to Riverwood and Whiterun to bring urgent news to the Jarl."

"Ralof, this is a matter that affects the realm, not something we use to greet wandering sellswords."

"Where dragons are concerned I would think that telling anyone takes precedence."

The Nord blinked twice. Dragons. The two seemed sane enough so he decided to ignore it completely. He repeated the salute to the Stormcloak and introduced himself, "Hail and well-met friends, I am Harald Svensen, a member of the Inner Circle of the Companions in Jorrvaskar. I too am on my way to Whiterun through Riverwood."

The two soldiers looked distinctly less comfortable at the Companion's mention of his membership in Inner Circle; the Stormcloak's gaze lingering on the spadone greatsword between the twin broadswords. Serves him right for thinking they could take on him and win.

The Legionnaire spoke up, "Well, I suppose we could travel to Whiterun together before splitting up."

"No objections"

"Sounds good"

* * *

 **Somewhere near Whiterun**

Camped within sight of Whiterun, the Legionnaire listened with rapt attention as the Companion regalled them with his tale of delving into a draugr crypt just to liberate a golden claw. The Stormcloak chuckled for a brief moment, "So the bandit just pulls the huge lever on the ground and then is shot with multiple poisened darts?" The Companion just nods with a smile.

"Hah. What a jackass. What happens next?"

"After some more traps and draugr, there was this huge spider. Apparently she had trapped some bandit with the intention of eating him. Anyway, I kill the damn thing all the while listening to the bandit bitch and moan about how the spider was going to eat him. Out of the goodness of my heart, I cut him down from his binds then the ungrateful elf just runs for it, cackling how I would never have the claw."

"I expect you caught up with him?"

"No, he activated a trap and ran straight into a wall of iron spikes."

The Legionnaire grimaces before the Companion continues, "So he's dead and the draugr in the chamber begin to wake up. It's a non-issue really, the ones you need to pay attention to are the ones who shout at you. Anyways, I search the bandit and, what do you know, it's the golden claw. I decided to go through the crypt rather than go back. Probably the best decision of my life because I got to grab this."

He drags a slab of stone from his pack and lets the soldiers ogle at it for a moment. Across its surface are carvings that look like they were made by some animal. The Legionnaire immediately notices that they aren't just any random scratches, they look too organised to be anything but written language.

The Stormcloak leans back from the slab, "I'm sure there's an interesting story behind that."

"Actually, it was a pretty boring fight. I saw the sarcophagus and the chest and knew it was probably going to be tough so I drew my greatsword. The draugr was down after three slashes. The loot was definitely worth it, I'm sure the Jarl's court wizard would be very interested in this."

"Don't you need a writ of entry to enter Dragonsreach?"

"Oh no, I'm just going to drop it off with his assistant. She frequents the market square."

* * *

 **Whiterun Gate, Whiterun**

"Stop right there, by the order of the Jarl, no one may enter or leave the city."

The Stormcloak snorted and made some noises about the cowardice of Jarl Balgruuf. The Legionnaire stepped forward before the Hold Guards could process the Stormcloak's insult.

"We need to see the Jarl, Helgen has been attacked by a dragon."

Another guard spoke up from his post, "So that's what it was, big black thing flying from the south-west."

"You're just going to take their word for it?"

"The Companion can go in, but you two are going to stay here while we contact our superiors."

The Companion waved as he walked through the gate.

* * *

 **The Bannered Mare, Whiterun**

The Bannered Mare generally reaches full capacity at around nine in the evening, with almost the entirety of Whiterun's populace gathering for dinner. Seated near the door, nursing a cup of warmed mead, was the Companion. Taking a tentative sip, it was clear the mead was sourced from the local Honningbrew Meadery. Honningbrew had a distinctive lack of alcohol in relation to the Black-Briar mead manufactured in the Rift. Furthermore, the seasoning of Honningbrew was static, using snowberries found in the Pale all year round. Black-Briar mead released in the Winter was seasoned with cinammon, mountain flowers in the Spring, jazbay grapes in the Summer, and wildberries in the Fall; all tied nicely with the almost creamy aftertaste of the distilled honey. Honningbrew was good, their mead had at least decency, but next to Black-Briar it was practically water. The only reason why Honningbrew even sold was the fact that it was cheap. A bottle of Honningbrew mead was at most half the price of a bottle of Black-Briar. This was because Honningbrew was made in a streamlined system where all of the processes of brewing happened simultaneously year-round. This of course meant that there could be no seasonal varieties and little time to test the quality of the manufacture.

"You might not want to drink that. Who knows what Sabjorn put into his mead this time to 'streamline production'".

"Elise Nouveau," the Companion nodded to the speaker who took a seat across the table, "Was wondering when you'd show up."

The Mage signalled for the waiter, "Farengar was enthusing over some new breakthrough in Magical Theory. We spent most of the day trying to extract the heat from a magelight and placing it into a ruby."

The waiter finally pushed through the diners, "Yes Ma'am, may I take your order?"

"Ah yes, I'd like the pan-seared salmon with a side of boiled leeks and a bottle of Northpoint brandy."

"And you sir?"

"Steak. Rare."

Once the waiter had left to place their order, the Mage leaned forward conspiratorially, "Just because you're a werewolf doesn't mean you have to be such a barbarian."

The Companion held the gaze of the Mage's faintly glowing eyes, took another sip and said, "And I was under the impression that vampires only drank human blood."

"It's mostly for appearances. Though I will admit that food doesn't taste quite like it used to."

"I'm amazed you can even remember that taste of food."

"It wasn't that long ago you dog."

"Fifty years is more that enough. Cranky old women like you are called bats where I come from." The Mage chuckled lightly, then leaned back as the waiter returned with two plates. Dinner was served. After taking a bite of the fish, the Mage reopened, "Farengar's such a bloody fool. Heat transfer can't work when you have a magically insulated object."

"What was he even trying to get at?" The Companion asked as he tore into his sizzling cattle meat slab.

"The perfect heating-cooling cycle. If he can manage to disprove the theory using magic, it would mean that Aetherius is not doomed to a future of heat-death."

"You mean like a fiery explosion?"

"Think of it this way: if a man were to continuosly run around the planet, he would use up all of the energy stored in his body and then die. All physical and magical processes use energy and that energy is always eventually transferred to heat. In us, we draw energy from what we eat; therefore, solid matter becomes heat through us as an abstract process. With magic, we mages draw power directly from the planes of Oblivion or the greater sphere of Aetherius and expel it as a spell. If the theory is true, this would mean that there is such thing as using up all the magic in the universe. What Farengar is trying to do is to shift heat between two stages whithout losing any energy to heat, light or sound, a one-hundred percent efficient heat transfer."

The Companion looked at his slightly bleeding chunk of cow. This had something to do with magic?!

"Um… What is the theory called?"

"Oh, the paper had a terrifying name. 'On the Movements of Pyrokinetics'. Me? I'd call it Thermodynamics."

"So how exactly did Farengar get it wrong?"

"Trying to magically induce a one-hundred-percent efficient energy transfer should become a byword for futility. The movement of magical energy from the person to the air generates a large amount of 'friction' since the conductivity of magic in the air is so much higher than the body. This causes the bright flash and sound when someone casts a spell. Using magic the way we do is perhaps the least energy efficient thing we know!"

"Why are you even an apprentice?!"

The Mage raised one finger, signalling for silence while she finished her salmon. In the meantime, the Companion's mind reeled. This was far more than he was asking for. He resolved to just get straight to business as soon as possible.

"Elise, I called you here because I have something that needs to be seen by Farengar. And could you stop it with the salt?" The Mage had been applying a frankly copious amount of salt onto her salmon.

"Firstly, The College wants to keep an eye of Farengar. Secondly, I can barely taste my food. Lastly, let's see what you've got."

Carefully, he drew the stone tablet and passed it over to the Mage. She placed a hand on its surface and traced the carvings.

"Interesting…"

Suddenly, the door burst open, regurgitating a guardsman. "Captain Aldis! Captain Aldis! The Jarl has summoned you to Dragonsreach. A dragon has been spotted!" A balding man sitting by the fire leapt to his feet and rushed out the door with the guardsman. The sudden shocked silence of the tavern exploded into a flurry of whispers.

The Mage handed the tablet back to the Companion. "We should go, the Jarl may need all the help he can get if it really is a dragon." With that, she left.

The Companion handed a slightly irate Hulda a sum of coins. "That's for her portion as well." Checking that all his swords were with him, the Companion squared his shoulders, tightened the straps on his gauntlets, then pushed open the doors of the Bannered Mare.

* * *

 **End Notes:**

So begins our journey. I know I rambled on a bit about thermodynamics and had to reign myself in from going Art History on the Bleak Falls tablet. I'd like to know if the nerdgasm was welcome, unwelcome, could be more, or could be less. Thanks for reading and leave a comment if you wish.


End file.
